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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28688277">Bringing Home the Holidays</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gr8escap/pseuds/gr8escap'>gr8escap</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Black Widow (Comics), Black Widow (MCU), Winter Soldier (Comics), Winter Soldier (MCU)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BuckyNat Secret Santa, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Sentimental</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:20:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,607</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28688277</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gr8escap/pseuds/gr8escap</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Using my giftee's prompts BuckyNat baking, fluff and Avengers go on holiday, Nat and Bucky left in charge of the avengers compound, adding a little nod to holiday decorating.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>BuckyNat Secret Santa 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Bringing Home the Holidays</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/rareandviolentsnowflake/gifts">rareandviolentsnowflake</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As Natasha made her way from her room toward the kitchen, her senses were on high alert. It was a brief alarm within her from decades of training and experience. It wasn’t hard to identify the cause of her discombobulation. The mostly abandoned compound was still like a frozen river. The extreme hush felt absurd as the place was always teeming with life, practices and shift changes weren't especially loud, but the absence of the din screamed in Natasha's ears. The intentionally scuffed her slippers across the kitchen floor to break the silence. She could be silent, yes, she was very good at it, but today, Christmas Eve, she didn’t want the quietness.</p>
<p>She hummed softly to herself, a festive Russian tune she used to sing to Lila by the light of the Barton Christmas tree. It was a song that she’d known for as long as she could remember. She often imagined her mother singing it to her long ago. As she hummed, she deftly assembled the ingredients and paraphernalia needed for an extravagant breakfast for two, careful to keep the noise to a minimum. Spreading out across the whole set of counters was a luxury. Typically there was just about enough room to elbow in and grab a favored mug for coffee.</p>
<p>The bowls were swiftly filled with pancake batter and whipped cream. The pans crackled as the food in them cooked. It felt pretty good to be immersed in the steps of cooking. Not a strength, yet she did know how to prepare many types of meals. This was her favorite, because instead of being a required skill for an undercover op, she had learned how to make these things just for James.</p>
<p>A wave of contentment washed over her as she thought of James still asleep in their bed, a starfish amongst the sheets and blankets. He’d been curled around her until she slipped out of the covers. Instantly, he spread out across the bed, face down. Sleep was a genuine scarcity for both of them, peaceful slumber was straight up rare; it was an honor to leave him to his serenity.</p><hr/><p>A nightmare faded into a pleasant but odd dream, enticing him with the aroma of bacon frying and coffee. Something sweet that he couldn’t place, that was the smell that pulled Bucky from his deep sleep. He looked across the bed with the one eye that wasn’t being held closed by his sleeping position. Excepting himself, the bed was empty, even pillows were gone. He grunted and stretched his whole body in waves before flipping onto his back. Staring up at the ceiling, he contemplated a pattern in the texture. The aromas weren’t part of the dream, they entered into his dreams. Unless he was having an olfactory hallucination, somebody was cooking.</p>
<p>They were the only ones here. Who would be — ? Would Tasha be cooking breakfast? It wasn’t unprecedented. He found it difficult to parse this information before coffee.</p>
<p>Sitting up and sliding across the sheet to the edge of the bed in one fluid motion, he stretched again, stifling a yawn. His bare feet touched the floor, the nice, heated hardwood had been an adjustment. Now it was expected and so appreciated. Bucky scratched his neck deciding to leave the prosthetic in it’s cabinet across the room. Somebody (Stark) had rigged it like a museum display case with lighting. He hated it, but worse, he hated that it amused him every time he looked at it.</p>
<p>He made a face at his reflection, the bed head was worth a second look and with it another pout. Blue Steel, that’s what he thought it was called. His reflection didn’t often amuse him, it rarely even pleased him, but today it did. He chuckled at the mirror and the strangely familiar face looking back at him. There were times he could almost see that kid, that cocksure sergeant, and this was one of them.</p><hr/><p>Natasha’s humming stopped when she heard the laugh. James’ voice did things to her physiologically, but his laughter reached deep into her soul. She poured fresh coffee into his favorite (he’d deny this) mug. His arm snaked around her waist as she set the carafe down. She smiled and took a distracted sip from his mug and turned to face him, the mug tucked close to her held firmly with both hands. “Here you go, perfect coffee in your favorite mug.”</p>
<p>“I don’t have favorites.”</p>
<p>“You do,” She admonished. “You spent half a morning refusing coffee from other drinkware because you were searching for this particular one.”</p>
<p>“You’re seriously going to start a fight on Christmas Eve?”</p>
<p>She smiled up at him, reveling in his grin. She pressed one of her hands that had been warmed by the mug against his chest, her fingers rested there before gently pushing him back. His arm withdrew and took up the mug from her, brushing her fingers with his.</p>
<p>“So, to what do I owe this pleasure?”</p>
<p>“So formal, with your mane of crazy hair in just your underwear,” Natasha replied, brushing some of the wild hair from James’ face. “You just said it, it’s Christmas Eve.”</p>
<p>He took a sip of the sweetened coffee and sat on the bar stool. “I thought I smelled breakfast foods, Tasha, you spoil me.”</p>
<p>“It’s a bribe.” She flashed him one of her flirtiest smiles.</p>
<p>He laughed, watching her as she assembled plates of breakfast foods. “What have I gotten into?”</p>
<p>“I feel like decorating the common area. I know, it’s ridiculous, but — “</p>
<p>“Whatever you wish, zvezda moya.”</p>
<p>She set a plate in front of him and pushed hers to his left, then rounded the island, running her fingers across his neck as she walked past. His accented, terrible Russian was right up there with his laughter in making her feel like she was floating. No matter how they tried, they just couldn’t break the Brooklyn out of him.</p>
<p>They both tucked into their food with a companionable silence. His plate was half eaten before he spoke. “What ideas do you have? Does this place even have holiday decorations?”</p>
<p>“You’ve got to be kidding. You do know Tony, right?”</p>
<p>“Oh, yeah. The man-child that made my arm a gallery exhibit. Of course he would have copious amounts of fucking Christmas lights, right?”</p>
<p>The revulsion James had to Tony’s gift was a source of amusement for most of the residents, none more than Tony himself, except maybe James. He was complicated in the most entertaining ways. “You guessed it. We have two options, we can either have a tree delivered or we can find one at a tree lot. What say you?”</p>
<p>“You want to do the lot thing, don’t you?” He took a big bite of pancakes allowing her plenty of time to answer.</p>
<p>“I do. I want to go out for a few hours, with you, find a tree, and just — just be normal.”</p>
<p>He nudged her with his thigh. He understood better than anyone. Sure the rest of the team had abnormal lives, the career paths they were on, how could they not? But the two of them, their lives taken over by nefarious people, torture in the guise of training, and worse. He knew. The touch conveyed more than words ever could.</p>
<p>“Tash, you got it. Normal holiday stuff.</p><hr/><p>Bucky watched Natasha laugh as snow fell on her (faux) fur-trimmed coat. A large flake settled on her cheek and he hesitated before brushing it away with his thumb. She was breathtaking. In everything she did, of course, but especially just now. “Being normal” and laughing with delight at her own horrible joke.</p>
<p>They’d been poked and brushed by a veritable forest of evergreens in the corner tree lot. She made him hold each tree they spotted out in the open so that she could dance around it, inspecting its worthiness. He would never consider just going along with anything she said, he gave his thoughts about each one, and when he pulled the perfect tree, he couldn’t contain his smile. She had to know instantly that he approved. She still inspected it with a very serious eye before proclaiming it perfect.</p>
<p>Once the tree was in the compound, wet and dripping on the common area floor, he wrestled with the conifer and Tasha ventured into personal storage in search of decorations. He cursed and flinched away from the tree as a branch escaped its tether and smacked him in the eye.</p>
<p>“What happened, James?” Tasha asked from the hallway, a large bin in her arms.</p>
<p>“Tree got me. I think I’d better hit Fury up for an eye-patch dealer.”</p>
<p>“Aww,” she cooed, setting the storage container in front of the sofa. “Let’s see.”</p>
<p>He let her administer first aid, clucking over his clumsiness. Though not entirely gracefully. He hammed it up, hissing and flinching, moaning.</p>
<p>She slapped at his shoulder. “Stop that.”</p>
<p>He smiled sweetly, ducking sheepishly and waiting for her to smile with him.</p>
<p>“You’re impossible.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, you wouldn’t have it any other way.”</p>
<p>She sputtered, but it looked like she wasn’t about to dispute his claim.</p>
<p>Natasha climbed up onto his thighs, sitting lotus style with her legs and arms encircling him. He held her close, concerned by the sudden neediness. “Tasha,” he crooned. “It’s okay lyubov moya.”</p>
<p>“No, I know,” She answered, talking into the crook of his neck. “It’s okay and that makes me emotional.”</p>
<p>“I —” He kissed her temple. “I know exactly what you mean.”</p>
<p>“Happy Christmas James,” she mumbled sweetly into his shirt.</p>
<p>“Merry Christmas, Tasha,” he replied with a tender smile against her hair.</p>
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